


Kiss of Peace

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Kissing, M/M, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are cursed by a ghost.  Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt at fluff. I'm not really sure what to make of fluff. But someone wanted fluff and I need to learn to write something that isn't angst, so here. 
> 
> Also apologies for the blasphemy. But the quote really does come from one of St. Augustine's Easter sermons, Sermon 227 in The Works of Saint Augustine: A New Translation for the 21st Century, (1993), Vol. 6, part, 3, p. 255. ISBN 1-56548-050-3.

Dean squirmed. “I don’t like this, Sammy. Who ever heard of a saint coming back as a ghost?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. 

Sam let out one of those sighs that made him sound like he hadn’t slept in a week and dropped his head against the window. “Well, they’re human. Why not come back as a ghost?” His giant hand, with its long, tapered fingers, inched toward the center of the seat. “They may have a good rep in the Church, but they’re still human, that’s kind of the whole point.” 

Dean stared at the hand. His tongue ran over his lips. It wouldn’t be hard to just reach out and grab Sammy’s hand. All he’d have to do would be to just… grab. That’s it. How difficult could it be? “Yeah, but this is supposed to be a saint, Sammy. You know. Holy and stuff.”

Sam shrugged. “All kinds of medieval saints are supposed to have appeared after their deaths. I mean, what is that if not a ghost?” He saw Dean looking at his hand and snatched it back, like he hadn’t even realized he’d been moving it. “Christ. What do you think he whammied us with?”

“You’re the geek boy, Geek Boy. That’s your department.” Dean turned his eyes back to the road, hoping to make it back to the motel before he crashed the Impala. “I’m just a hammer.” 

Dean could practically hear Sam’s eyes rolling in their sockets. “Whatever. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I don’t know whose bright idea it was to ship an original copy of one of Saint Augustine’s Easter sermons to friggin’ Boston anyway.” 

“Someone who figured it would be safe there, I guess.” The elder brother chuckled. “Good to know you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.” 

Sam let the jibe slide with nothing more exciting than a quick bitchface. Dean knew he shouldn’t have said it in the first place. Sam was a better than adequate thief in his own right; Dean hadn’t taught him much when it came to breaking and entering. “I’m going to have to sit down with the document and see what we’re working with, but I don’t know what a friggin’ Doctor of the Church would want with… us. You know?”

He shook his head. “He’s probably just pissed because his stuff got grabbed, Sammy,” Dean tried to soothe. “I mean if he is a ghost, that’s how ghosts do. They get mad, they whammy you.”

Sam started biting his nails. “It’s more than that,” he said, glancing at his brother as he chewed. “Most of the time they’ll defend whatever it is that they’re attached to. They’ll take a swing at you or something. He’s done that to other people who’ve come to the library and done things in the area of the papers. This time he didn’t. He showed up, looked at us, discorporated, did some… thing… and now we’re all….” He trailed off, nibbling savagely on the cuticle of his right pinky finger. He’d always done that, even when he’d been a baby. Dean could never decide if he thought it was a bad habit or if it was endearing; he knew he couldn’t be expected to be neutral on the subject, since he did the same thing himself on occasion. 

“Hey. You may be all jittery and stuff but I’m fine,” Dean lied. 

“You haven’t stopped staring at me since we left,” his brother snapped. “I swear, it’s like you think you can turn your eyes into laser beams and get rid of my moles.”

“Nah, Sammy. I’d never get rid of them,” the older hunter blurted. “They’re too cute.” He bit down on his tongue. “Did I just say that? I just said that.”

“Keep your eyes open, Dean! I’d like to get to the motel in one piece!” Sam barked. He slumped down in his seat, as low as his freakishly long legs would let him anyway. “Don’t worry about what you said, it was just the… whatever, the whammy talking.”

He turned to look out the window. “Right. Right! The whammy. Stupid ghost cursed me.”

“Us.” 

“What?” Dean turned to look at Sam, who slammed his giant hand on the dashboard.

“Damn it, Dean, the road! Yes, us! The ghost hit both of us at the same time, remember? I mean for crying out loud, I tried to hold your hand!” 

“Really? That was you trying to hold my hand? Jeez, Sammy, no wonder you haven’t had a date in two years.” Even as the words came out of his mouth Dean felt a twisting inside of him, like someone had literally grabbed hold of his intestines and tried to wring them out. He’d experienced exactly that once or twice in Hell, so he was intimately familiar with the sensation, but he kept his mouth shut. As soon as the pain came it went away again, after all. 

“Eat me, Dean.” The words came out without heat. For a second Dean felt a stab of jealousy – how was it that Sam had also been cursed but wasn’t getting the same pains he was? Then he noticed that Sam’s breathing had changed; he was clearly breathing through something, trying to control pain without letting Dean know. Damn kid.

“We’ve got to figure this thing out fast,” Dean muttered, hitting the gas a little harder.

They didn’t talk on the way back to the motel, another in the eternal series of classy joints that had been the Winchesters’ “homes” throughout their childhood. Dean actually kind of liked this one; the curtain had been made of glass cutouts of cocktail glasses. Granted the cutouts had been made sometime around 1920 and left that way, without any appreciable cleaning having taken place, but it was the thought that counted.

Well, the thought and the entertainment factor of watching Sam try not to have to make physical contact with the thing. 

Sam edged his way into the room as soon as they got back and sat down at the table, opening up his laptop before his butt was even fully in the seat. He pulled a pair of nitrile gloves on and started reading the document they’d stolen from the special collections department, the one that had started this whole mess in the first place. He frowned. He typed. He frowned some more. Dean went over to the mini fridge and grabbed a beer. Again, that terrible pain ripped through him. On a hunch, he grabbed a second beer and opened it. The pain stopped. 

“I’ve got a theory,” he suggested, even as Sam turned around and said, “I think I know what’s going on here.” Sam accepted the beer and even offered a little, dimpled smile. 

Dean’s heart absolutely sang. It freaking sang, like birds after a rainstorm. “You first,” he urged.

Sam raised a quizzical eyebrow. “So. Um, you’re not going to like this.” 

“I didn’t like Purgatory, Sammy. Spit it out.” He tried to sip from his beer, but almost dropped it when one of those pains hit him again. 

“Okay. Well, here’s the thing. St. Augustine was a Doctor of the Church, but he was also a teacher. A catechist. He, uh. Well, you know how when you go to church and they offer each other a ‘sign’ of peace?” Sam’s cheeks were flushed now, and his little pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips. 

Dean frowned. “We’re not Catholic, Sammy. Hell, we’ve both been demons, I don’t think we really belong in the Christian car on the God train, you know? I mean, Lucifer wore you.”

Sam glowered. “Yeah, let’s not. Anyway, I know you’ve been in a church because you went when we stayed with Pastor Jim. Back in St. Augustine’s day, it wasn’t a handshake or a hug. It was a kiss.”

Dean choked on his beer. “A kiss? They were okay with people just kissing all over the church like that?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, men and women sat separately so that cut down on some of the scandal. But, uh. “ He looked away. 

Dean sat down beside him. “What is it? Just a peck on the cheek? I get that things have been rough between us with everything but seriously –” 

“Um,” Sam interrupted quickly. “So the text that we lifted was one of his Easter sermons. And I quote, ‘This is a sign of peace; as the lips indicate, let peace be made in your conscience, that is, when your lips draw near to those of your brother, do not let your heart withdraw from his. Hence, these are great and powerful sacraments.’” He carefully put the scroll or whatever away.

Dean frowned. Where his knee touched Sam’s was like a magnetic pull; he didn’t want to pull back. “You think that Augie wants us to…” 

“Pretty sure.” He buried his face in his hands and massaged it for a minute.

“Oh.” Dean paused. “Okay.” 

Sam pulled his hands down, just enough that Dean could see his eyes. “Okay? Just like that?” 

“If it will get the damn ghost to stop twisting my guts every time he doesn’t like what I say to you or thinks I should bring you a beer, then yes. I am more than happy to swap a little spit. Pucker up.”

If Dean were being honest with himself he would admit that Augustine was just providing him with an opportunity, that he’d thought about kissing Sam a thousand times before now. Maybe this lacked romance, but he’d take it.

“Fuck my life,” Sam groaned, but he closed his eyes. He put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and he leaned in and touched his lips to Dean’s. 

The kiss was a revelation. In Dean’s head, Sam was still a virgin, the innocent little boy who had burned down the field with him over the fourth of July. Never mind that when he’d gone to get Sam at Stanford he’d been living with a woman (who had come out to see what the commotion was in basically her underwear). Never mind that Madison had been wearing Sam’s shirt when they found her after she wolfed out. Never mind that while soulless Sam had essentially fucked his way across the lower forty-eight. None of that changed Dean’s essential view of Sam as untouched. 

The way Sam kissed? Oh, that changed everything. 

“Sorry,” Sam said when he pulled back for breath. “Kind of lost it there.” 

“It’s all good,” Dean lied. His hands shook, so he stuffed them into his pockets. He wanted to reach out and grab Sam, maybe shove them into Sam’s pockets, but he didn’t. “I mean, it was the ghost curse thing. Not your fault.” 

Sam shot him Bitchface Sixty-Four: Dean Is Being Deliberately Obtuse And It’s Pissing Me Off. “Dean, the curse was broken as soon as we touched our lips together. Mostly, I think. I mean, he’ll probably still want us to not be assholes to each other. But I’m reasonably certain that a fourth century Christian theologian who wrote about sexual desire as inherently sinful didn’t intend for the kiss of peace to include tongue.” 

“So you…” 

Sam blushed. “I’m sorry. I’ll… uh, I’ll just go.”

Dean grabbed his arm, barely catching him before he could flee. “Sam, it’s not like I wasn’t right there with you.” 

“Yeah, but you thought you were cursed.” 

“You had a comment of your own about how quickly I agreed to it and you want to talk about how I thought I was cursed?” Dean chuckled and pulled Sam in closer. Sam didn’t resist. “Kiss me again now that we both know what’s going on.” His insides gave a little twinge. “Please.” 

Sam grinned, like the clouds parting after a storm. “So demanding!” 

Dean put his hands on Sam’s hips. “Btich.”

“Jerk.”


End file.
